


Hiraeth

by nofucksgiven



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Lotor (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Character Development, Haggar's A+ Parenting, Hurts So Good, M/M, Minor Allura/Lotor (Voltron), Minor Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Misunderstandings, Omega Lance (Voltron), Sad lotor, Slow Burn, Zarkon's A+ Parenting, lotor needs a redemption story, she kind of makes up for it later though, so much feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2019-08-19 16:58:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16538585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nofucksgiven/pseuds/nofucksgiven
Summary: Lotor wore power and poise like a second skin, invaluable tools in a war that spared no one – not even a prince. He needed a mate that would complement him, not a bubbling idiot with a severe lack of self-preservation.





	1. Chapter 1

When Lotor was younger, he had fantasized about meeting his mate, the one creature in the universe meant solely for him. Having presented as an alpha at birth, Lotor had plenty of opportunities to idealize about his future paramour. They would be as beautiful as the starlit night sky, he decided, and amply curvaceous to bear him strong, viable heirs. They would be equally wise and skilled in combat, so as to protect their broods and abet him in ruling the future Galra Empire. As he grew older, Lotor listened in fascination as his Galran brethren described the utter sense of fulfillment that came with being near their mates. He, too, wished to satiate the tremendous void that festered from deep within and which only seemed to amplify as time passed.

Puzzles and mysteries rivetted Lotor the most. He unveiled a voracious curiosity in his youth that often got him into trouble with Dayak, but rewarded him an eclectic imagination. Paired with his meticulous predispositions, it soon became a well-known fact throughout the empire that whatever managed to catch Prince Lotor’s attention, would inevitably become his obsession. Remnants of his mother’s genes, perhaps. Earnestly and with utmost patience, Lotor coaxed the universe’s secrets into his embrace – the histories hidden within heirlooms, the peculiar versatility of quintessence, and the extraordinary physiology of omegas that made them so much more fertile than betas. It would be many decaphoebs before Lotor discerned the declining prevalence of omegas across the cosmos.

The prestige that came with royalty enticed many Galran partners to Lotor’s bed, yet he was never satiated. His physical needs would be assuaged, but a sense of disgust and discord always followed. Countless quintants were spent scrutinizing the imperial archives for more information about mating bonds; time and time again, the records had described the enthralling scent of one’s fated mate. Try as he might, Lotor found the scents of the betas and omegas around him dull, irksome, or absolutely repugnant. He thought himself broken, and as adolescents oft do, came to loathe his treacherous body. Still, he held onto a smidgeon of hope that his mate was not among the hordes of Galra that he’d already met. Perhaps they were stationed in another galaxy, or of a different species altogether, eagerly awaiting their fateful encounter.

Fate, as fickle as she was, offered Lotor little kindness over the course of his adulthood. He reluctantly matured in the bosoms of bigotry and discovered the potency of hated, fiercer than any amount of quintessence he’d ever honed. True to Galran nature, Lotor refused to believe in the inane assertions that his mixed blood made him any less of a warrior or an alpha. He would prove to all that diversity was strength and a vital catalyst for innovation, just as his Altean and omega mother, Honerva, had accomplished many millennia ago. Lotor would let the universe know that he was worthy of the throne and of a noble consort. And for that, he needed quintessence; that of his own so that there would be no question to his superiority.

When his father had sent him to a Galra mining colony to test his abilities, Lotor had shown the empire a different way of coexistence – one where difference was not only celebrated, but elicited the potential of the planet’s inhabitants to meet their needs. Their technology, though primitive compared to Galran standards, had advanced leaps and bounds under his care, to produce new and richer resources that their species had never seen before. The planet’s biodiversity and population surged in alarming rates, yet each subspecies occupied a distinctive niche within which they thrived, thus preserving equilibrium.

To Lotor’s surprise, the number of omegas being born into the populace also increased. With each new generation, the frequency of true alpha-omega bonds climbed and the fertility of betas and omegas alike soared.

Briefly, Lotor wondered if perhaps his fated mate had not yet been born. This notion later set him on a series of investigations that led to a terrifying discovery. In comparing the colony’s birthing patterns to that of the Galra, Lotor learned that the number of alphas and omegas in the empire had been steadily falling for hundreds of generations. Although alphas could sire children with betas, their offspring were scarce and would certainly be beta, leading to fewer and weaker armies. Omegas, in contrast, were substantially more fertile and alone possessed the ability to carry alpha and omega babes. The data indicated that true alpha-omega bonds were also becoming increasingly rare in the empire, further decreasing the likelihood of healthy progenies.

The Galra were dying. And Lotor didn’t know why. But what he could do was prevent further deaths.

Lotor understood the Galras’ weakness – they were too reliant on a limited resource. Quintessence was their flaw, the sole driver of their reckless ambitions, but it also held the key to their survival. The substance powered every piece of Galran technology, amplified their strength with little effort, and allowed the Galra to enjoy a generous lifespan. They needed more of it! His father’s simpleminded solution to this energy crisis was to move on to the next extractable source of quintessence once one had been depleted. While this scheme may have carried his father during his prolonged reign, Lotor had doubts that it would sustain the empire for another 10,000 years into his eventual sovereignty.

For this reason, Lotor experimented on the colony’s inhabitants and flora, which eventually confirmed what he’d always suspected – that quintessence could be replenished and reextracted from the same source. In theory, infinite quintessence was possible if allowed adequate time to replenish under optimal conditions. No longer did the empire have to expend precious lives and quintessence to gain back what was in net, negligible. The empire could prosper beyond the wretched zero-sum game, potentially restoring the universe to an era of omega fertility comparable to that of ten millennia ago.

His father, foolish and blinded by that witch Haggar, asserted that his motivations were spineless and opposed the Galra way. Lotor’s desperate pleas fell on deaf ears. Zarkon demanded that he destroy the colony; Lotor refused and was promptly banished from the empire. The vile dictator did not hesitate to obliterate the planet in his stead and along with it, all of Lotor’s unfinished research. Decaphoebs go by and he would helplessly watch, from distant galaxies, as more and more Galrans perished to pitiful causes. Precious alphas, betas, and omegas alike, once lifelines to the empire’s future, now lost forever in purgatory.

  
*

  
During his exile, Lotor’s resentment towards Zarkon grew into something sinister. Cast astray from the pinnacle of self-determination and into a dark abyss wrought by profound loneliness, Lotor strained to preserve his sanity. More than once, he thought of his supposed mate who had never made themselves known to him. Where were they, when he so needed to feel desired and whole? Would they have been Galran? Or birthed into an undiscovered species? Had they been among the consequences of this senseless intergalactic war?

Would they be disappointed in him?

Plagued by shame and regret, and eager for distractions, Lotor sought to quench his physical cravings by fucking anyone he found remotely attractive. He bedded more species as an enigmatic exiled prince than he ever had in his adolescence. Something about him being more approachable now that his shadow lacked a certain interplanetary tyrant, watching his every move. Defiant, he takes a blade to his beloved ivory mane, fervent to rid himself of everything that reminded him of his tumultuous past.

For the first time in his life, Lotor was free to explore wherever, whatever, and whomever he wished. Lotor took his companions anywhere he damn well pleased, and give them back just as much. He maps their dark skin to his memory and gets lost in celestial blues. He discovers erogenous zones in foreign expanses and contours their lithe bodies in implausible ways to complete the jigsaw. He yearned so desperately for peace, an ever-elusive tranquillity. For a brief time, carnal pleasures provided the perfect escape from his dangerous ideas and inner turmoil.

Lotor obtains a miraculous drug in the Unilus’ swap moon which dampened his alpha senses, and in time, Lotor forgets what shame and regret feels like.

Lotor meets Acxa on a dying planet, starved and stricken with disease but with enough strength to steal his wallet. He lets her keep it, but knocks her unconscious when she tries to steal his pilfered ship. They befriend Zethrid when Lotor strikes a Galran harassing her in an interdimensional bar between two black holes. Then he bought her a drink because guards needed a break, too. The three carry Ezor to a medical facility when they burn an interplanetary zoo to the ground for abusing their illegally-obtained “animals”. Narti appeared one day and Lotor doesn’t quite remember how or why. Zethrid only shrugs when he asks, Ezor starts giggling, Acxa simply shakes her head, and Narti is Narti.

  
*

  
Time passes differently in other regions of space. Lotor travels from cluster to cluster, acting purely on instinct and unaware of the gentle pull towards a trivial fragment in space. He forgets, then he remembers. A biological mechanism by which the universe spares all living beings dwelling in it from an existence of eternal loneliness and strife. It was brilliant, so clever, so perfect.

Lotor drinks the drug and sleeps.

  
*

  
Lotor decides Narti needs to get out more. He takes her to a covert market on an asteroid and instructs her to pick out a new suit. Narti comes back with a cat that smells like decomposing flesh, the others whine and beg because their pitiful noses aren’t as keen, and Lotor is just about done with his generals.

While procuring supplies and power crystals for their ship, Lotor finds himself strangely drawn to a nearby auction house. A saccharine aroma entices him relentlessly. He takes his time finishing his various tasks before making his way towards the tent. Moments after he enters, he hears skeptical gasps and whispers amongst the crowd. Curious, he looks up.

There, lying in a cage on the podium, subdued and cuffed, was an Altean.

Lotor startles, an emotion that quickly transforms into horror. The stale stench of terror and blood hit him unawares. He becomes frantic, bidding away all that he was worth for the boy’s freedom. His generals question him and Lotor can’t help but agree that he had made an irrational decision. Yet, all of his frustrations vanished when a trembling hand reached for his robes; nervously, the feeble child hugs his leg and thanks him for his saving his life. A genuine smile crept onto Lotor’s features then, the first in a long, long while. His generals accuse him of going mad, but Lotor decides that if Narti can have a cat, then he can have this.

They nourish and bathe the boy, fly him to a far away constellation, and reunites him with his parents. Just like that, Lotor continued to find Alteans in hiding, learning of the survivors that had been trading off-planet when their home world was destroyed. He rescues and shrouds them all on a planet in the Quantum Abyss, promising them liberty and safety, away from the wretched Galra regime. Away from Zarkon and his vile sorceress.

In return, they teach him about his long-lost heritage; about Altean fruits and plumage, about King Alfor and the Paladins of Voltron, about their intrinsic connection with quintessence. Lotor was mesmerized by their iridescent markings – the Marks of the Chosen, they called them – and their beautiful, blue eyes. They smelt of burnt honey and of the ocean, and it intoxicated him. Lotor, who had been without purpose and ambition for millennia, began to feel the rekindling of an old fire within him.

The new Alteans worshipped him, respected him, obeyed him – _loved_ him.

Lotor would preserve his newfound kingdom at all costs.

  
*

  
Swap moon is destroyed by Zarkon and Lotor suffers from withdrawal. Livid, he furtively hunts the empire’s stations, hacks into their terminals, and steals as much Galra information as he possibly can. Then he sits back and watches worlds burn.

Lotor is petulant when he hears from tapped lines that Voltron has been taking all the credit for his induced chaos. He doesn’t sulk for long, however, following intelligence that the Paladins had managed to incapacitate Zarkon.

Without the elixir to dull his alpha senses, Lotor’s faculties began to stir from what seemed like an eternal slumber. The haze was receding and with it, his ire for the Galra returned, reinvigorated. He remembers the smell of inferno on seared skin, the screams echoing across the colony as they begged for salvation, the crushing feeling of defeat and loss. More than anything else, Lotor hurts to acknowledge the very empty space beside him.

And so, when Haggar’s druids pressed for his return to fill the newly formed power vacuum in the Galra empire, the fateful son agreed, seeking to finish Voltron’s work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priorities change when promises must be kept. Lotor is intrigued by Voltron.

Stars transform into streaks of light, bright then dim, as Lotor inputs the coordinates into the ship’s commands, calibrating the shortest route back to the empire.

He shifts in his seat and exhales, the faint hum of the flight desk’s controls granting him a moment of contemplation.

There was a time when Lotor wanted to be emperor.

It was not that he coveted the throne, but rather, that he was never made to believe otherwise. A child does not know what he wants, he is told what to want. They had called him “prince” and whispered honeyed words into his ear, cajoling him into playing the puppet in a show where he lacked all the strings. Lotor accepted the title, for he hardly had any control over his birth, and willingly bore the burden of an entire empire’s expectations. But it wasn’t enough.

It never was. Not for Zarkon.

No, Lotor had no interest in being a ruler, a notion that was further cemented during his travels while exiled. He found the endeavour tedious and an imprudent use of his time. Instead, he offered broken planets what they needed, no more, no less, and only what he could deliver. As long as Lotor kept his end of the bargain, he expected loyalty in return for his efforts. It only seemed fair. To accept or decline, the choice was theirs. It was beneath him to demand obedience; they would impart it of their own free will or not at all. If they favoured pride or prejudice over survival, then it would not be on Lotor’s conscious when they perished.

Moreover, dictatorship only attracted treachery, as Throk so kindly demonstrated within days of his arrival.

“You wish to challenge me?” Lotor rumbled, with a knowing smirk. “Then come down and claim your crown.”

 _By all means,_ Lotor mused. A scapegoat to distract the masses while he plotted would indeed be a tremendous asset.

As the bout continued, it became clear to Lotor that Throk had been a victim of the phenomenon that he had uncovered many millennia ago. His opponent had passable combat technique, but his movements were repetitive and his strikes, predictable. Though few betas could match an alpha in strength, they were once respected for their intellect and ability to stay composed even in the most chaotic of situations. Yet here was Throk, a true reflection of the current state of the Galra empire and whose aggression and arrogance beckoned his own downfall.

 _What a pity_ , thought the forsaken prince.

 

*

 

Lotor likes to provoke, because desperate creatures are also the most beautiful.

He gathers stories and intercepts communications, forming a theory that is tested when he sends his generals to Puig. To his surprise, the elusive Black Lion joins the battle, though it is immediately apparent to him that the paladins who thwarted his father were not the same ones before him.

“It would seem . . . that Voltron did not leave their battle with Zarkon, unscathed.”  

Lotor considers destroying the paladins right then and there. It would have been easy, given their disordered state. He ultimately decides against it, in a one-time display of gratitude for debilitating Zarkon and paving the way for his return. There was still much he didn’t know about Voltron, and he would persist in persiflage until he knew everything there was to know.

For now, Lotor would allow them rest.

Yet, like a beast without its head, the foolish paladins followed. 

Defiant, the lions pursue Lotor’s ship through long stretches of space, mistaking their utter recklessness for hollow bravery. A flicker of displeasure spurs in Lotor as he observes the paladins endanger themselves so carelessly, but the twinge leaves him just as abruptly.

He does not know what compels him to personally bait the lions, but Lotor is already in a fighter, bobbing and weaving amid the paladins, when he concocts his plan. He leads them to Thayserix, intending to divide and conquer. Instead, he finds himself chasing after the blue lion, as if that one in particular had offended him. Perhaps the blue lion held certain secrets that he alone could divulge. Lotor watches it rise and dive, spin and hide, its movements so right and yet, so, so wrong.

Lotor glides his long fingers over the controls effortlessly, maneuvering his vessel around pillars and debris in a game of cat and mouse. It has been centuries since he experienced a good chase and it gave Lotor shocks of predatory pleasure that he never thought he would feel again. So exhilarated was he that Lotor was momentarily distracted from the ice beam that struck the left wing of his fighter. He retreats back to his ship, but feels an odd sense of pride as he watches the blue lion lead their fellow teammates to safety with a newly discovered ability.

Lotor likes to provoke, because desperation begets evolution and _that_ was beautiful.

 

*

 

A plan unfolds, even as others slowly come undone.

The witch somehow manages to awaken Zarkon, who is quick to brand his son a criminal of the empire. Betrayal hurts less the second time around and Lotor doesn’t fret, having expected this trajectory since his return. His generals seem less than enthused about the news, though he is understanding of their deteriorating faith. After all, he, too, had been subjected to the same uncertainties in the wake of his exile. The empire had given them a taste of strength in numbers and they were wont to preserve it, all too easily forgetting the prejudice they’d faced from the same species that now shamelessly beckoned their loyalty.

Lotor captures the trans-reality comet but loses the teludav. He visits the ruins of Daibazaal with his generals and hopes for a miracle, but is met only with disappointment. With the last of his pure quintessence depleted and his lust for revenge dispelling, Lotor stood at a precipice and thought forlornly of his kin beyond the Quantum Abyss, whose very future had prompted the commission of the portal between realities in the first place.

Lotor remembers Petrulius, the verdant-haired Altean omega who termed Lotor’s marred alabaster locks ‘an utter tragedy’ and spent many summers restoring it to the full glory that it is now. He shivers, recalling how the boy had been so full of spirit one day and on the verge of death in the next.

His memories shift brusquely to Gnautu, the omega healer who had dedicated her entire life curing others of strife and disease, all the while succumbing to that of her own. The irony was almost laughable.

Lotor misses Rahz most of all, the dreadfully sharp omega inventor who had somehow managed to duplicate his forgotten research, thought to be lost in the now-extinct colony. It was him that shared with Lotor the ancient Altean distress code that ultimately enticed the paladins to the wormhole. The ephemeral prodigy, who deserved to be with his family in his last moments, had instead summoned Lotor to his death bed and implored him to save the last surviving Altean omegas from their fate.

He had sent them all away in his grief, forcing their physical bodies into stasis before their last bit of quintessence withered away.

Death was not unfamiliar to Lotor, but the more souls that left him behind, the more he grew to resent the inevitability of time. Time that was quickly running out.

Voltron was needed to keep a promise, and Lotor would have it. He was no longer a powerless prince. He would keep his vow to never again abandon those who had shown him kindness at his most vulnerable moments.

The screams of old echoed in his ears as Lotor clenched his hands hard enough to bleed.

Failure was not an option.

“Not this time”, he beseeches Acxa, as she sends a thousand volts through his skin and the world goes black.

 

*

 

“Fighter squadron Djalg 15 here. No sign of Lotor, moving to zone Rebulon 55.”

“Negative, Djalg 15, that zone is restricted.” The female Galran responds over the comm, “I repeat, zones Rebulon 4 through 69 are off-limits. We expect a massive detonation soon that will wipe out everything in the quadrant. Stay out of the area.”

Lotor seldom loses himself to his baser instincts – a quality that he is rather proud of – and is thus alarmed by the guttural snarl that escapes his lips upon hearing the harrowing words relayed over the tapped lines. The Rebulon quadrant, if he recalled correctly, housed Naxzela, a planet that had been terraformed by the Galra into what is essentially a latent bomb.

The rational part of his mind reasoned that he had just escaped his father’s crutches and that it would be unwise to bring attention to himself so soon. The alpha in him, however, bellowed for him to rush to the quadrant and protect . . . something. The fury that surges forth is overpowering and a storm churns wildly under his breast, urging release. Lotor stops thinking and his eyes glaze over. He doesn’t fight, he envisions the demise of Voltron and promptly abandons his carefully constructed poise for revived bloodlust.

It takes him several doboshes to reach Naxzela’s system but Lotor’s wrath calms marginally when he sees a formed and intact Voltron in the distance. He assesses the chaos before him, aligns the crosshair on the shield and fires his cannon without hesitation, destroying it effortlessly. He prepares to fire another round, his skin still torrid from the adrenaline, but the Galra spacecraft is quick to flee and he loses his chance to be spiteful.

The crackling electricity from Naxzela subsides and Lotor absently concedes that Voltron is safe. The alpha in him settles with a huff, confusing Lotor evermore. He doesn’t have time to question his instincts, however.

Realizing that he was now alone and surrounded by individuals who would love to see him dead, Lotor assessed his options.

When the sound of artilleries and the whirring of ships approached a deafening quiet, he seized his opportunity:

“Attention, Paladins of Voltron and rebel fighters,” his voice resonates through the battlefield, “I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but . . . I think it is time we had a discussion.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is what it seems.


End file.
